


fate's a funny thing

by NotSummer



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tesseract, Yggdrasil - Freeform, lots of knives, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSummer/pseuds/NotSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yggdrasil has had many names- Fate, Force, God, but Yggdrasil simply IS.</p><p>Even when a monster with skin the color of freshly spilled blood seeks to use her fruit, her Tesseract to break and bend her branches, still, she Is.</p><p>'Twas always going to happen this way, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fate's a funny thing

**Author's Note:**

> In which the author reads far too much fanfiction, drinks far too much soda, and doesn't get nearly enough sleep.
> 
> I was reading Avengers soulmate AUs, and my Operative OC started calling my name.

When the sky rips open in a dark navy that's still all too bright and forces people to stare away, it was pretty much guaranteed this wasn't how Cipher Seventeen expected her day to go. Still, no one has exactly excused her of having any sense, so she steps forward and enters the tear in reality, and even though her feet seem to remain on the ground, she feels like she's falling.

And then she realizes the rest of her is on the ground, too. She hops gracefully to her feet, and studies her surroundings through blurred vision, and  _that s a lot of blasters pointing at her_.

Still, she's an Imperial Agent, so she's pretty familiar with this situation, so her vibros slip into her hands, and she falls into a defensive stance as easily as she breathes.

The world comes into focus, and she takes a moment to thank the Force she's wearing her mask and hooded armor because she doesn't see a single alien, and she has never ever trusted a human to be rational when confronted with a nonhuman.

As the sensors in her HUD sweep around her surroundings, given her a 360 degree view, she studies the injuries the dirt, and the sense of weariness. She eyes the injuries and the weapons and the tang of blood and sweat drifts through the air.

"I don't know who you are, nor where I am, but I'm guessing I landed in a warzone." Her bland tone slithers through the audio processors, giving it a technical edge and a slight rumble.

A woman pushes through the section of the crowd behind her, an air of assertiveness around her, and really, 17 can't stop the remark-  _this is why she prefers assassination to infiltration, Watcher Three_.

"I do love a woman in charge," and she's pretty sure her leer is obvious even through the mask.

The woman pauses, thrown off, but then just rolls her eyes, clearly used to being flirted with, considering she looks to be the only women in this camp. "Who are you?"

17 snaps into a perfect military stance, salutes, and settles into a parade rest, her knives disappearing on her person. "Cipher 17, Imperial Intelligence Operative." 17 pauses long enough to remove her mask, and thrown back the hood, letting her crimson gaze flicker.

The only hint the woman gives towards her mental state is a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. 17 can admit she's jealous; 17 has never had a good sabaac face. "Margaret Carter, Strategic Scientific Reserve. Do you have a name?"

"I don't have a name. Just like I'm assuming you lot don't have any contact with the rest of the galaxy."

17 is a little shit at heart, even the Intelligence Academy couldn't take that from her, so she uses her emotionless Murder-Agent voice to state, "I was given to the Intelligence Academy as a toddler, and trained to murder, lie, cheat, steal, con, pirate, manipulate, seduce, torture, assassinate, and fight from the moment I arrived."

She says nothing else, watching how unnerved they get, and then she chirps, "It means I've got the best stories," letting a massive grin creep across her face.

Carter's face has twisted into something 17 distinctly recognizes as  _Force help me_ and 17's grin only gets bigger.

 

 

The brass has no idea what to do with her. She's not human, so she has no real place in their war, and she refuses to share tech. She also terrorizes any rookies on the base she happens to haunt at the time. But her skill is blatant enough that they don't want her joiing the Axis Powers.

Peggy, who manages to shut down 17's flirting long enough to become tentative friends with the Chiss, finally introduces 17 to the Howling Commandos. 17 isn't listening when Peggy explains why, but she gets a sense of  _you assholes deserve each other_.

17 strolls into the bar which quiets as soon as the distinctive hood and mask enters the door (She hasn't taken them off in company of anyone but Peggy since she arrived, and okay, she's got a reputation for _shenanigans_ at this point, _sorry Peggy_ ). She says nothing, just eyes a couple of recruits, until one jumps up and runs, then stands aside to let Peggy into the smoky bar. She follows the brunette to a corner of the bar where a loud and boisterous group of men are sprawled around a table drinking. Cater stops to talk to Captain America, and 17 turns her head between the two of them.

Peggy's 17-is-going-to-make-life-miserable-radar lights up as 17 opens her mouth, and Peggy almost gets a word out. _Almost_. But not in time to stop 17 from her latest remark.

"Force help me, but I'm chocking on the propriety here. Hey Pegs, if I cause a distraction, you think it'll give you enough time to drag this idiot to our room? I can find another place for the night."

The captain turns bright red, and 17 cocks her head, and drawls, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone that color. You're adorable."

Peggy glares at her, and states, "Since the brass doesn't like you, I was going to ask Steve if he had room for an infiltration specialist. But now I'm questioning if you'll get along with them."

17 turns to her, and spreads her arms, leaning back against the wall, "Solo operative,  _Mar'ika_. Not much of a team player."

One of the men grins at her and between his laughter chokes out, " **Doll, anyone that can rile Steve up that much is one of us, no worries** ," as he raises his glass to her with a grin that makes 17 want to rip off her armor and jump him where he sits.

Except she says nothing. She gapes, thankful for the mask, and the cold of the Csillian tundras rushes through and shakes her to her core.

17 tends to make jokes, tends to laugh, tends to flirt, and takes nothing seriously. If she is honest with herself, she knows it is because she needs a wall between herself and the reality that she cannot count the number of lives she has ended. She has disrupted medical shipments, sent data to slavers and pirates about small colonies, organized the butchery of Republic troops through stolen intel, and interrupted peace talks. Under orders, of course, but that doesn't lessen the load on her shoulders. She is the silent blade of the Empire, dripping with blood. 

And she stares at the man who could be ( _is_ ) her soulmate, and does the only thing she can think of. She overloads her stealth generator and disappears. 17 turns on her way out, and sees Peggy throw up her arms in frustration. 17 grimaces, but the need to run, to hide, to flee as far as she can is stronger, and she disappears into the night.

Later, she'll bug Peggy into giving her a list of targets, mumbling excuses about solo ops and what she can do when she doesnt have to worry about pesky things like morals and Geneva conventions. She gives Peggy a commlink, her only extra, and slinks off to cross the list off.

 

 

She'd like to say she doesn't think about the man with glacier-blue eyes, but she never was much of a liar. Maybe she's a coward, maybe she's terrified of her programming, maybe she's unworthy, maybe, maybe _maybe_. She slinks through Hydra bases, taking out officers, stealing notes and freeing prisoners.

She keeps running.

She refuses to consider what might happen if she stops.

 

 

Seven months later, 17 is slinking through a base seeking intel on Hydra's latest experiments, when pain explodes across her lower back. She lets herself fall, away from the knife gouging into her back, and she rolls, her own blade sunk deep into the grunts eye. Two more throwing knives take care of the two behind him, and she runs towards the labs. Time is now of the essence- if the patrol doesn't report in, the notes and research Hydra has will be destroyed.

Her stealth generator is uncomfortably warm where it sits on her belt, and she grimaces as becomes increasingly painful. The speed she's running at it will force it to shut down, and she swears, flipping it off, and pulling out her rifle. She executes two Hydra foot soldiers with neat head shots, stopping to rummage through their pockets for knives, valuables, and loose change.

She swings around another corner, and does the same to a patrol of four Hydra troopers.

She's wary- this has been far too easy, and in her experience, easy only means there's a trap about to be sprung.

Well.

No one has _ever_ accused her of having an overabundance of sense and survival instinct, so she continues towards the lab.

When she slips through the doors, two dozen Hydra troops turn, and start shooting.

The fighting is ruthless, but this is something she's trained for, and if Jedi and Sith couldn't bring her down, she'll be damned if Hydra does. Joke's on them anyway- Hydra is hampered by the multitudes of troops using long ranged weapons in an enclosed space and she prefers close quarter combat. She slits throats, and throws knives into eye sockets and throats and snaps a neck or two, and  _grins_ while she dances through the chaos.

She snags the research, and nearly makes it back to the nearby SSR base before the collection of wounds takes its toll

She passes out from he pain just as she rounds the bend in view of the gates.

 

 

Peggy sits with her as the doctors stitch her blue skin back together and set her ribs. 17 truly wakes up after three days, and as she adjusts to her surroundings, hands on the knives Peggy had slipped into her recovery room, Peggy murmurs, "I had no idea you had a soulmark."

17 can't even shrug, but Peggy must see something in her empty red eyes, because she only sighs and asks, "What did they do to you, Cipher?"

Cipher turns away, no quip rising to her lips, because she's not an idiot, she knows Peggy recognizes the writing, knows she ran the minute she had a chance at being accepted, knows she ran the minute she might have had a chance a being happy.

She doesn't have an answer, and she doesn't know if she ever will.

 

 

The nice thing about her armor is that it hides the bandages. So while she may be confined to the base, she can still run around terrorizing the recruits, hiding in Stark's office dropping enough hints about technologies where she came from to make him squirm, and staking out Peggy's office, taking messages and attempting to be helpful.

It doesn't go well, but Peggy says she appreciates the thought, so 17 ends up reading in the corner where she loudly announces her snide commentary in between sips from a bottle of vodka.

She's bantering with Peggy on the third week of her incarceration when Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes report to Peggy to deliver reports on their latest recon mission. Peggy shots her a smile, with mischief in her eyes, and 17 knows this meeting isn't going to go well. In fact, 17, who is a snarky skeptic on her best days and antagonistically atheist on her worst, starts to pray.

17 stares at her, praying fervently that Margaret Carter is not about to do what 17 thinks she's about to, and sits completely still, unable to run since Rogers and Barnes are still blocking the doorway with their not inconsiderable bulk.

Peggy turns to stare at her, and there's a glimmer in her eyes 17 doesn't quite like. "Interesting. This looks a lot like the handwriting across your back.  Is that why you ran from that bar several months ago.

17 twitches, then hunches down, sliding down in her seat. Barnes eyes her, Rogers frowns, and Peggy's got a triumphant grin on her face, and _phwoar_ but 17 thinks she shouldn't have teased Peggy this much.

17 then grimaces, because she is not a supersoldier and her ribs still hurt.

She eyes the vent in the ceiling, and Peggy murmurs, "The vents been sealed shut and you still have an obscene amount of shattered bones from the last Hydra base."

17 can't breathe, panic nearly overtaking her, but she stuffs it down, and turns towards Peggy, her voice gruff and icy, colder and more shaken than Peggy's ever seen it. "Get out and shut the door."

Peggy drags Rogers behind her, and Barnes leans back against the door, focusing completely on her, and an irreverent part of her brain whispers  **i never could manage the sniper's calm** and he grins, and _shit_ , she said that out loud.

There's a rushing in her ears, ad blackness encroaches on her vision, and she can't breathe, and she reaches back to unbuckle her mask, but her fingers are shaking and it takes her longer to uncover her face than she'd like, but finally, her hood is down and her mask is clenched in her hands, and her eyes dart anywhere but at her soulmate. Her chest heaves as her panic takes control, but he crouches in front of her, a gentle smile on his ( _stupidly_ ) handsome face, and she calms long enough to return his gaze.

She feels two calloused fingers under her chin, and he grins, "Alien, huh? Peggy briefed me, but she failed to mention how pretty you are."

She chokes out a laugh, and scowls, "My ribs are shattered, don't make me laugh."

His eyes narrow, and 17 snarls, "Don;t you dare get overprotective. Fighting is the only thing I have."

His eyes narrow, but all he says is, "Not anymore. What's your name, doll?"

"Don't have one?" After all the trouble she gets in, _no one_ can rock a sheepish look like 17 can. "I was given the title Cipher 17, but most people call me 17."

"How do you not have a name? And 17 isn't a name at all."

She pauses, and thinks,  _if I can't trust my soulmate, I'm kriffed_ , and alters what she was going to say, and in a quiet broken voice that sounds nothing like 17 and everything like _her_ , says, "It was taken from me when I was given to Imperial Intelligence before my second birthday. But," she hesitates, takes a breath, and blurts, "but I sliced into their systems when I went rogue and I think I know the name I was given originally? It's Chiss, so it's ridiculously long and complicated, but the short version is Kaia?"

He leans back, his calloused hand slipping into her smaller gloved one, and asks, "What's the long version?"

"Morde'kaia'varaiva. It's long even for Chiss, but in Cheunh, everything gets smashed together, and a single stressed syllable is the difference between completely different meanings, and-"

She trails off, staring at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. Her voice cracks, and she whispers, "You deserve better than to be chained to a broken monster like me. I can't count the amount of lives I've taken- even children, elders, non combatants,  _innocents_."

 

 

 

She's in the Valkyrie when it crashes into the ice.

 

 

 

She's in Stark Tower when the Triskelion burns.

 

 

 

She  _understands_ when the Winter Soldier stands in front of her. So she does the only thing she can, really. She laughs. Hind sight is a  _schutta_.


End file.
